Vignettes of Him
by Midnight Sacrilege
Summary: OCxOC; het. We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know.
1. The Bittersweet End

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Hello, all. Maddie here. I'm uploading these in the order that I finish them, because that's the only way that seems to make sense, given the format of this fic. That being said, you could probably skip to any chapter of this, because they are in no particular order, content-wise. I strongly encourage you to submit a review by clicking on the button at the bottom of the chapter, even if you don't have an account. I welcome your praises and constructive criticisms. Enjoy~

**[Vignettes of Him] The Bittersweet End**

In which we burn to death, together.

I pressed the button on the television remote. The ordinarily, familiarly comforting circle interrupted by a vertical line seemed to be taunting me. _Eight minutes_. We had eight minutes until the solar flare reached us. I felt the muscles in my throat constricting at a pace that I sensed would kill me before the heat ever did.

This was all wrong. The sun was supposed to last for hundreds of thousands of years more. Its destruction was supposed to be my grandchildren's grandchildren's grandchildren's problem. To my generation, that life-giving star was nearly infallible. But now, it was acting out of control, one of its molten helium tendrils poised to strike.

I didn't know whether to scream or cry. Laughing was out of the question; I had ruled out that response hours ago, when the news broadcasts began. _Seven minutes_. For some reason, I felt compelled to check my cell phone. The screen lit up, displaying the 'NO SIGNAL' symbol in the upper left-hand corner. Of course. The radiation was interfering with the phone lines. How would I reach _him_? I walked to the front of my house and threw open the door. Without so much as a worry about the fate of my family or the cat, I quickened my pace until I was running, stumbling through the scorched yards of my neighbourhood. I ran, finally reaching the main road. It led to everything: to school, to _him_... It was in chaos, crowded with cars and people trying desperately to live out their last moments like they'd imagined. Or perhaps that was the problem. Maybe some of them _hadn't_ imagined. The world ending, like this. I turned and ran to my right, beads of sweat forming all over my body. They had warned that it would be preceded by a dramatic increase in temperate. I had never liked living here.

_Six minutes_. I knew I would never make it in time. In sixth grade, the last time I ran a mile, it had taken me over ten minutes to complete. I slowed, my pace delayed by the onset of a sense of utter despair. _Five minutes_. When I finally halted to a stop, I fell to the ground and closed my eyes. I lay there for at least a full sixty seconds, all the while thinking that this was it--this was the end. I was dying. We were all dying, and I wouldn't get to see _him_. The tears flowed freely from my eyes into the yellow grass, which soaked up the water as though the action would somehow aid it in surviving longer than the rest. If only something could help us, like that.

_Four minutes_. Next to me, I heard the sound of a tire grinding to a halt on the asphalt. I opened my eyes and was disoriented by the bright-orange and yellow sky. Then, I was overcome with the realisation that somewhere, _he_ was dying, just like me. It made me want to close my eyes again--this time forever--but somehow, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted to be there for the end. I wanted to see the sky torn apart by blinding light. I wanted to witness the end of mankind. The end of me. Of _him_. I stared the tinted clouds down as though _they_ were the ones responsible for killing us.

_Three minutes_. In my determination to watch the world die, I hadn't noticed the door of the car that had pulled up open and slam closed again after a person got out. The figure, tall and male, approached me. I squinted in the bright light. I was dying. I was _dying_.

Maybe this was Jesus, coming to take me. Coming to take me away from the pain and the horror, because he knew I feared dying, knew how much I couldn't sleep for the thought of meeting my own termination. As he got closer, I saw that it wasn't Jesus, but the next best thing. I ran to _him_ using my last bit of strength, and collapsed in _his_ arms, which _he_ then folded around me.  
_Two minutes_. My tears fell silently, creating small pools of water on _his_ shirt that were almost instantly dried up by the immense heat. Though I knew it was pointless to speak, in my mind I was asking _him_, 'Will we end up in the same place?' And somewhere, _his_ voice answered back, 'I know so.'

_Sixty seconds_. We held each other like that, in the last minute of our lives. The air grew warmer and warmer until I could _feel_ the top layers of my skin peeling off. I pulled away from _him_, then, and looked up into the eyes I had admired for so long. _He_ took my hands in _his_ and drew me to _himself_, kissing me with one last bit of fervent passion. With _his_ lips still pressed against mine, I felt _him_ whisper 'I love you'. I responded with the same three words. The only thing I could think about was how incredibly comforted it made me that _he_ was there.

_Three seconds_. They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes; but mine didn't. The only image they held was of _his_ face, pressed against mine as the fire consumed us.

_Zero._


	2. These Magnificent Miles

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Here is another chapter for you all. I strongly encourage you to submit a review by clicking on the button at the bottom of the chapter, even if you don't have an account. I welcome your praises and constructive criticisms. Enjoy~

**[Vignettes of Him] These Magnificent Miles**

In which we make the most of a quiet morning on the band bus by 'exploring each other's bodies'.

'You're really attractive, you know.'

_I think about it sometimes_—I continued in my head—_notice it in the strangest of moments: when you're standing in line at the concession stand at a baseball game; when your face is set and your mallets are poised above the keys on the bell set; or when you're sleeping next to me on the bus_.

I could feel _his_ eyebrows go up, resting momentarily at the location of my temples before returning to their normal position.

'Really?' _he_ asked, _his_ voice filled with a self-denying wonder I feared _he_ had learned from me.

'Yes, _really_. Why would I lie to you?'

This time, I felt a movement lower down on my face, as the corner of _his_ mouth pulled backward into a smile, the skin accompanying the muscles necessary to perform the gesture brushing against the right side of my nose.

'I don't know. I can't think of a time when you ever have.' _His_ face turned until our noses were touching. I took a deep breath.

'Good.'

I hardly had time to finish the word before _his_ lips were upon mine completely. Something, some subconsciously-controlled mechanism in an extremity of my mind, was counting the seconds. _One, two, three, four_. _He_ broke away for a moment. I reminded myself to breathe moments before _he_ made a motion to continue the kiss, and ending up gasping into _his_ mouth. _His_ hand found my cheek and stroked it, as if to tell me that _he_ didn't mind.

Without warning, an arm reached across my thighs and rested there briefly. Judging by the sound of _his_ rotating shoulder, I knew that it had to be _his_. I cringed, the dread of being picked up in this way flooding my body, but fortunately the movement remained internal. Down at my lower half, _he_ was continuing. Both of _his_ arms were employed in the act of pulling my legs across _his_ lap. This effectively changed our position so that our bodies were perpendicular, and our heads could face each other. _He_ wasted no time in taking advantage of this, and forced me against the side of the bus with _his_ lips, _his_ tongue begging for entrance into my mouth. I granted it to _him_, and suddenly a large wet mass of taste buds and pink flesh and purple veins and nerve endings had pushed its way past my open lips and begun to explore my mouth. I sat there in amusement as _he_ ran_ his_ tongue along the insides and outsides of my teeth. I occasionally remembered to do something with my hands, which were clasped around _his_ back. It was a difficult business, this. Too much to think about all at once.

_His_ tongue had paused, and I took the opportunity to introduce it to mine. I marveled at the smoothness; one wouldn't have expected the clashing of two sets of taste buds to…to _glide_ so easily. It was a wonderful thing. _His_ saliva tasted faintly of the Skittles _he_ had been eating earlier that night. But it was morning, now, and the landscapes of several states in the eastern United States were slipping by behind my head.

_He_ pulled _his_ tongue back into _his_ own mouth, and I closed my lips in response. We separated for a brief instance, during which time _he_ reached down and adjusted the position of my legs on _his_ lap. This time, my mind made no attempts to resist. It wasn't long before our faces were again pressed closely together. I settled into the curvature that was the combined forms of the bus seats and _his_ body. Our lips touched again and again. At one point, I decided to return the favour _he_ had done me earlier and slid my tongue into _his_ mouth. _He_ received it with an unnatural fervor, sucking so hard that for a time I actually feared _he_ would detach the organ from the rest of my body. _His_ teeth cut into my lips, and my nose was pressed so strongly against _him_ that I couldn't remember the last time I had taken a breath. Below the apparent concentration of the action, all was not still. I felt _his_ hips buck repeatedly but gently against me, _his_ essence coming into contact with the side of my leg.

_He_ pushed my tongue out of _his_ mouth, followed it closely with _his_ own, and slowly licked my lips before plunging toward my throat with _his_ tongue. I lost control and let out a moan that passed almost directly from my lips to _his_ ears. _His_ hand, which had been caressing my cheek, disappeared from my face.

'You like that?' _He_ finished the inquiry by adding my name in a husky tone unlike even the one _he_ used when joking about sex with the other members of the drumline.

'Mhm-hm.'

It was the only response I could make with _his_ lips already back on mine. We continued what we had been doing, our antics covered for the time being by the lessening blackness of the morning. My hands found the bottom edge of _his _shirt, and I slid them underneath it. The expanse of bare skin this action exposed was a newfound area of exploration for me. I moved my hands up, down, and across _his_ back, eventually settling on running my finger along the band of _his_ boxers. The elasticity of that particular garment caused the fabric at its top to bunch together. Occasionally my finger would slip beneath the frills; the skin underneath was warm and smooth. I smiled against _his_ lips, knowing that one day I would be able to continue, and that as for everything I felt and more, it would all be mine.

Meanwhile, _his_ hands had had no trouble finding ways to occupy themselves. Once, while our tongues were entwined in their almost familiar passionate dance, _his_ index finger encountered the part of me that was facing _him_. _He_ slid the curled digit up my side. Its proximity to my breast sent chills down my spine. _Someday_…

At another time, _he_ reached around my back and lifted my shirt and tank top so that _his _palms rested directly on my skin. When he began to move _his_ hands, I became aware of how horribly ticklish I was there, and instinctively arched my back to avoid _his_ touch. _He_ stopped kissing me and laughed. I laughed, too, despite myself. But _he_ left _his_ hands in their position on my lower back, and I grew accustomed to the feeling.

The comforting darkness was waning. _He_ cupped my chin in _his_ hand and pulled my mouth to _his_ in a bout of passion that left me panting to catch my breath. I could feel _his_ eyes on me.

'Are you okay?'

It was the first thing either of us had said in twenty minutes. I nodded, and then confirmed my answer with a spoken response.

'I'm fine.'

The bus pulled to a halting stop at a gas station, waking the majority of its occupants. I slid my legs off _him_. _He_ smiled at me, and we shared a final kiss in the dim morning sunlight.

It was these moments I would remember, the ones I would draw back on when we weren't together. Band buses at one in the morning, _his_ subtle but pleasing scent, the feeling of _his_ skin against my fingertips; they were all permanently ingrained in my memory after that night.

'I love you,' _he _whispered over the stirring of our fellow band members. This was the last thing _he_ would say to me before falling asleep with _his_ head on my shoulder. I leaned up and kissed _his_ neck.

'I love you, too,' I murmured, infinitely glad that for the first real time I had been given the opportunity to show _him_.


	3. The Other Half

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Sorry, this chapter contains no mention of band whatsoever. Imagine that we both just finished up our seniour year of high school in it. c; The chapter's a little racier than the others so far, so watch out. Do they make hotel rooms with only one bed? I've never seen one… This story was originally a much longer concept, but it ended up being four times as long as the previous two even after I cut it down. I'll use the rest of my ideas in separate fics. Reviewers receive a special place in my heart. The rest is for _him_. ;D Happy reading~

**[Vignettes of Him] The Other Half**

In which we discover that 'the other half' is everything we'd hoped for.

'_I can't wait to see what else we can do with our hands. I'm thinking that I'll like the other half. A lot.'_

I ran my fingernail along the lines as I read. There was really no need for it, I thought before tossing the letter onto the top of the pile of clothes in my bag. After all, I knew the words by heart.

I carefully placed the lid back on the shoebox that held all of _his_ cards and letters, organised by type and date. The oldest were pushing three years of age, but still looked as though _he_ had penned them yesterday. I always wondered to myself whether _he_ kept my replies, but never asked. I guess I was afraid of finding out that the answer was no, _he_ didn't care enough about what I had written back in sophomore year to keep it stored away forever.

I zipped the small duffle bag closed, my eyes never straying from the folded pieces of notebook paper with the frayed edges that held the highest place on top of all the other contents. I shouldered the bag, turned out the light in my bedroom, and trod pensively down the stairs. Sophomore year. It had comprised the beginning of everything: our first date, our first altercation, our first dance, our first kiss… I almost tripped and fell to the bottom of the staircase thinking about the firsts that would be created in the upcoming days.

As I entered the kitchen, a ridiculously familiar sound assaulted my ears: my sister's ringtone. Biting my teeth, I awaited the onset of the also-familiar urge to stab her. When it did not come, I suspected that it had been repressed by the euphoria of my situation. I shrugged and removed three TV dinners from the freezer; they joined my clothes and _his_ letter in the duffle bag. I had to remember that on average, _he_ ate two times and much as I did, or more. The father unit caught me kneeling on the floor with the freezer door open and a fading smirk on my face.

'Packing light, I see.'

'I can't survive a week on just Pocky and Ramune, Fa—' I tried again. '…Dad.' Finally, years of cultured practice had led to the proper degree of detachment. It was everything I could do to keep from praising myself on the spot, though it wouldn't really have mattered. It was far too late for him or anyone to interfere, now. I was leaving. _Leaving_.

I hummed something to myself as I snuck a pack of Skittles into my duffle bag. (Unfortunately, this was one food of which I didn't have an addition double portion for_ him_.) I got through several bars before I realised what it was. Our opener from freshman year. It was a wonder I could remember it.

The mother unit joined me in the kitchen as I was standing up and once again pulling the strap of the bag over my shoulder. I almost laughed at the thought that she was the last person I was taller than that I would see for a while. The fact that _he_ had an entire foot on me when it came to our heights often annoyed me, but I would gladly have traded the woman in front of me for _him_. I was, in fact.

She smiled and tried to kiss me on the forehead—something she had used to have to bend down to do. My skin reeled at her touch. Nonetheless, I mustered a look of agreeable complacency and attempted to don some body language that matched. I ended up giving her an uncharacteristic hug.

'Take care, mi'ja.' I had always found her use of broken Spanish laughable.

'Make good choices.'

She told me this every time I left for an anime convention. If only she knew where I was really going. I suspected that she would have very different words for me.

'I will, Mom.'

I moved toward the front hallway. Placing my hand on the doorknob and pulling outward gave me the greatest sense of freedom I had ever felt. Every step toward the driveway took me one foot farther away from the house and everyone in it. I extracted my keys from the pocket of my shorts. The consoling beep of the car as it unlocked for me drowned out the mother unit's customary call of departure.

'Vaya con Dios!'

More Spanish. The saying meant 'Go with God.'

'I plan to,' I muttered under the sound of the car door opening and slamming closed. I didn't even bother waving goodbye as I set my bag in the passenger seat, stuck the key in the ignition, and pressed the gas pedal. I was sure she was still standing there in the doorway, watching me leave. But I wasn't about to look back. That would be surrender, and I had come too far for that.

I still had a ways to go, however. _He_ lived several miles away. I sat silently with my hands on the wheel, as many familiar places passed by on either side of me. In a few minutes, one of those places would be his house.

_He_ was sitting on _his_ front porch when I pulled up, an old backpack occupying the bricks immediately to _his_ left. _He_ picked this item up and carried it with _him_ to my car. I leaned over and grabbed my duffle bag, relocating it to the floor behind me. _He_ followed suit with _his_ backpack, closed the car door, and kissed me briefly before I drove off.

'Nice to see you, too,' I remarked. _His_ eyes seemed fixated on the rearview mirror, but trained on me as soon as I turned a corner and _his_ house rolled out of sight.

'If you didn't like it, I won't do it again.'

A typical response of mine. I rolled my eyes without looking at _him_ and gave the same negative response _he_ so often did.

'No, no. I wouldn't mind being greeted like that, in the future.' I smiled. 'I could definitely get used to it.'

_He_ grinned at me.

'I thought you would say that.'

_His_ hand found my right arm. I breathed, more heavily and sensually than usual, and allowed _his_ fingers to run up and down it a few times before I stopped _him_.

'Not while I'm driving,' I warned.

Granted, I had been doing so on my own for a year, now. And the problem wasn't that the tantalizing fantasies of us clouded my mind—no, those had been there since before the day I walked into the DMV to take my learner's permit test. It was that there was something about _his_ presence that made them exceptionally vivid, and all the more real. At the sense of _his_ fingerprints on my arm, my mind reeled and suddenly I was imagining _him_ touching other parts of me. I could as good as feel _his_ hands all over my body.

_He_ must have taken note of my shallow breathing and unfocused stare, because without touching me _he_ softly reminded me of the task at hand.

'The road.'

'Right.'

My eyes snapped upward, and _his_ hands were gone from my skin. I eased up and we continued our journey in near silence. _He_, I imagined, was projecting forward, into the future. I, however, was thinking in reverse: to the past. The part of my brain that chose to analyze archived situations at the most inopportune of times had kicked on and was running at full speed, asking me to recall the awkward hug I had given the mother unit earlier in the day. At this, the part of my brain that liked to relate everything to him (which was all of it, really) called up a memory of the first person from this state that I had ever hugged. Of course, it was _him_. I remembered it well: the night of a band concert, and we'd just been given a superiour rating at the district festival. After putting away _his_ clarinet, _he_ had approached and asked me if _he_ could hug me. Of course, I had answered yes, and _he'd_ wrapped _his _arms around the silky black fabric of my band dress that surrounded my middle. _His_ smell…everything had been so close. Even our heights; the heels I was forced to wear in order to keep my already-hemmed dress from dragging on the ground brought my face closer to _his_ than it had ever been. What I remembered most distinctly about this historic embrace was not wanting it to end.

A voice screamed something into my left ear and I started. Correctly knowing that I wouldn't mind, _he_ had run some of the music _he_ liked through the car stereo. I threw the whole of my focus into the road in front of me. Our exit was coming up, and with all my mind's distractions, it was truly remarkable that thus far I had evaded a devastating crash, let alone stayed on the right road.

For me, the rest of the drive was filled with half-imagined fantasies and topical but distant thoughts. I paid minimal attention to _him_, occasionally looking over when _he_ changed songs or adjusted _his_ body position. After half an hour of driving, I was greeted with the sight of our hotel. Its sign appeared first, the familiar Marriott logo gazing down upon me like an old friend. We were stopped at a stoplight, but when the light turned green, I pressed the gas pedal with renewed vigor.

Pulling into the parking lot, I allowed myself a moment to reflect upon the circumstances that had brought us here. Throughout high school I had greatly resented _his_ work as a lifeguard, but it was the money from that job, coupled with my meager babysitter's salary, that was paying for the room we were so close to entering. I smiled at _him_. _He_ was putting on _his_ backpack. I was reminded of my own bag, and removed it from the backseat of the car. We both got out and I closed the door. _He_ did the same, and metal contacted metal with a satisfying slam. The car beeped behind me when I pressed the lock button on my keys, and we started toward the hotel's automatic sliding doors together.

Once inside, I fell back as _he_ approached the main desk.

'We have a reservation.'

I hadn't heard _his_ voice for a while. It was strange to hear _him_ say my last name when _he_ was asked. Well, our last name. It had been a part of my signature for so long that I considered it mine, to a certain extent.

The employee handed _him_ a small white envelope, no doubt containing the keys to our room. From the background, I nodded appreciatively, and then followed _him_ around a corner and halfway down a hallway to the elevators. We didn't have to wait; fortunately one was already at the ground floor. Its gleaming silver doors opened at the push of a button and slid closed behind us after we stepped inside. _He_ pressed the number that would signal the elevator to take us to our floor, and, when _he_ joined me at the back, tentatively took hold of my hand. I wriggled my fingers and squeezed them, pressing my palm to _his_. My other hand rested on the strap of my bag. The elevator doors opened onto the beige paneled wall of a hallway with clipped green and red carpet. Surprisingly, the employed pattern made it look the least like Christmas as was possible.

In all my wonderment, I found myself being pulled toward the wall at which I had been staring. _He_ had started for our room, and the nature of our current bond caused previously-stationary me to be dragged along behind _him_. To avoid detachment of my arm, I quickly caught up. The hallway seemingly wound around the entire building. We followed it until we reached Room 101. Go figure one of the shortest, simplest numbers was so far away. Next to me pulling out a key, _he_ laughed—almost as if _he_ had heard my thoughts.

_Beep_. A green light flashed on as the door unlocked. I placed my free hand on _his_ arm and felt _his_ muscles convulse as _he_ turned the handle and pushed. The door slid open to reveal a quaint, single-bed room with a bathroom off to our left and a window on the far side. It was nine o'clock, and the sun had almost completely disappeared below the horizon, its lingering illumination giving any white object in the unlit room a soft pink glow. I followed _him_ in and sighed quietly, contentedly when I heard the door click shut. I turned around to deadbolt it.

'You're so paranoid.'

I had been called that before.

'I wouldn't put it past the father unit to follow me here.'

_He_ quieted at the mention of my father. I touched my fingers to _his_ temple and ran them down his face to _his_ chin, pulling them away slowly.

'I'm going to change, okay?'

I suddenly felt as helpless as I did when _he_ was in pain and I knew there was nothing I could do for _him_. _He_ nodded at me, and I stepped around _him_ and into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. My breath came in shorter and shorter gasps until I was forced to the floor, overwhelmed by the emotion I never struggled to keep inside.

_Focus._

I regained control of my senses and heard _him_ walk away from the door and into the main part of the room. My duffle bag, turned on its side, was lying on the floor next to me. I shifted so that I was on my knees in front of it, stood it upright, and zipped it open. _His_ letter was still on top, the comforting handwriting reminding me of just how long the man on the other side of the wall had loved me. I set the pieces of paper to the side and pulled out the next item in the pile: a navy blue camisole. After removing the shirt I was currently wearing, I put it on. The top of the pile was now occupied by red cotton shorts. I took off the pair I had arrived at the hotel in and slid the new one up my legs until it was in place. _He_ often mentioned that I looked good in red.

The final items out of my bag were a mirror and a hairbrush. Almost reluctantly, I grabbed the ponytail holder on my head and pulled on it until it broke free. My straightened hair fell loosely down on my back. I gave it a good brushing before repacking everything into my bag. I replaced the letter on the top of the pile, adjusted my hair one final time, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the bathroom. I set my duffle bag down in the tiny entryway.

_He_ was sitting on the bed, _his_ black shirt and tan complexion contrasted by the stark whiteness of the sheets. By the look of it, _he_ had removed about half of the pillows customarily found on hotel beds, and was leaning against the other half. I watched _his_ eyes follow me to the thermostat mounted on the wall.

'It's freezing in here,' I commented, but decided against altering the temperature of the room, instead of walking over to the bed. I set my knee on the edge of it and used my own weight to push myself up. As I crawled across the sheets toward _him_, I asked:

'Aren't you going to change?'

'You know what I sleep in,' came back the reply.

I did. My fingers found the bottom edge of his t-shirt.

'Feel like sleeping?'

_He_ glanced over at the clock, as though it were going to help _him_ decide. When _his_ eyes met mine again, _he_ gave me _his_ answer.

'No, but I wouldn't mind being dressed for it. I'm going to have to sleep eventually.'

I was more than happy to oblige. I had _his_ shirt off in seconds and worked the buttons on _his_ shorts easily. Both garments landed atop the discarded pillows around us.

_How convenient that he sleeps in only his boxers_, I heard myself think. Out loud, I had another inquiry for _him_.

'Better?' I asked, my mouth dangerously close to _his_ own. _He_ answered by closing the gap between our lips. As we kissed, an acute pain in my hip reminded me just how awkward my position was. I groaned in discomfort and broke away for a second, my lips practically dripping with _his_ saliva, and moved my right leg across both of _his_ so I was straddling _him_. Much more comfortable then, I put both of my hands on _his_ chest, and we careened toward the mattress until the pillows nearly surrounded us.

I reintroduced my lips to _his_. Sometime in the middle of our passion-filled kiss, _he_ decided that it was unfair that I was the dominant one of us, and before I knew it _he_ had flipped our positions so that I was the one underneath _him_. _His_ mouth came crashing down on me, and I was afraid that the rest of _his_ body would follow. It did, but somehow the pillows absorbed some of the pressure and I wasn't crushed under _his_ weight.

We kept each other entertained with our lips for a time. After a while, _he_ branched out into the use of _his_ hands. I suddenly felt them at my hips, where the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my shorts tightly hugged my body. Somehow, we had ended up leaning against the pillows on our sides. On my upper half, the spaghetti straps had already slid off my shoulders. I slipped my arms completely out of them. The movement attracted _his_ attention.

'What are you doing?' _he_ asked between heavy breaths.

'Making it easier for you,' I told _him_, and set my hands atop _his_. I helped him pull the camisole over my head, guiding _his_ hands so that it landed on the floor near the other pillows and _his_ clothing.

_He_ moved in to kiss me, but then pulled back and started to laugh to _himself_. I have _him_ a look.

'What's so funny?'

'Oh, it's just that…' _he_ paused to succumb to the laughter for a moment. 'Go figure even the clothes people can't see match.'

I was known for my constant choice of colour-coordinated clothing.

'And,' _he_ went on, 'school spirit, much?'

I looked down and laughed. I had forgotten that I was wearing my white bra with the red stars and dark blue piping.

'You're seeing it now, aren't you?' I asked.

'True.'

Without warning _his _lips hit the line of symmetry of my undergarment and _he_ kissed _his_ way up the exposed part of my chest and across my neck until arriving at my face. Before _he_ could make contact with my mouth, I placed three fingers on _his_ lips.

'Though if you have a problem with that,' I reached up with one hand and pulled _his _head to me so that my lips were immediately next to _his_ ear. 'I'm sure I could help you resolve it.'

_He did_ have a problem with looking at my bra, apparently, because _he_ reached around to my back with _his_ warm fingers and skillfully unhooked it. I could hear _him_ breathing as _he_ slid it slowly off my body.

'It's okay,' I whispered, giving _him_ a reassuring kiss before sliding further underneath _him_. The pillows had started to bother my neck. _He_ moved downward to adjust to me, so that our heads were level again. _His_ eyes studied my face.

'I always told you you look beautiful with your hair down.'

One of his hands grabbed a strand of my dark brown hair, and _he_ ran it between _his _fingers. Finally, _he_ put it back in place, reached around my head, and lifted me to _him_. The skin on my bare chest molded into _his_, accepting of _his_ heat. I pressed my lips against _him_, allowing my tongue to venture only far enough outside of my mouth to rub it against _his_ teeth. _He_ made soft noises in response, still clutching the back of my head with _his_ hand. As the kiss intensified and my tongue continued to make its rounds at the front of _his_ mouth, the sounds became more distressed.

'_Stop teasing me_,' _he_ hissed, _his_ voice reduced to a harsh whisper.

I knew very well what _he_ wanted; I was no stranger to how much _he_ liked it when my tongue was at the back of _his_ throat. So I finally conceded, and _he_ took me in with enough force to make a vacuum cleaner jealous. _His_ noises morphed into loud moans that increased in frequency until he altogether collapsed in pleasure on top of me. I struggled to breathe, somehow managing to roll us over until I was once again on top of _him_. Our tongues romped in the cavern created by the combining of our mouths. I moaned and twisted my legs around _him_. I could feel the fabric of _his_ boxers pressed firmly against the inside of my thigh. I maneuvered my hand down and placed it on the bulge the cotton was covering, rubbing my finger lightly across the top. For some reason, I remembered _his_ prophetic letter, lying peacefully in my bag.

'Someday,' I broke away from _him_ long enough to say, 'I'll show you exactly what else we can do with our hands.'

_He_ thrusted _his_ hips upward a little until the cotton of _his_ underwear was practically underneath that of my shorts. Whether it was involuntary or not, I would never know or ask.

'I'd like that.'

'I thought you might.'

I ran my hands up and down _his_ sides. Our legs were still intertwined. We kissed until we made ourselves tired, and then just lay motionlessly in our position. When I could no longer convince _him_ that my shivering was not something that needed to be attended to, _he_ pulled back the sheets and ushered me underneath. _He_ joined me there, and put _his_ arm around me as we fell back against the mountain of pillows still on the bed. I settled into the crook of _his_ elbow, and then slid my legs across _his_, both to find warmth and to bring us closer together. We lay there like that, for a while, until _he_ broke the silence by bringing up something I had mentioned much earlier on in the night.

'I'll protect you from him. Your dad.' _His_ voice had a quality in it that I'd never heard before. And I couldn't place it…

I rested a hand on _his_ chest.

'I know you will.'

_He_ leaned down and kissed me gently. When _he_ pulled away, my saliva still glistening on _his_ lips, I saw it in _his_ eyes.

'Caring.' I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there was no taking back my statement.

_True caring_.

_He_ didn't appear to notice that I had seemingly spouted the term for a concept of relationships for no reason. In fact, _he_ had already fallen asleep. I placed my head on _his_ shoulder and drifted off, thinking about how lucky I was to have _him_.


	4. Those Fateful Downpours

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: My most band-y chapter yet. It's a mash-up of two ideas I've had for a very long time—the first being that lucky vibraphone line, and the second the opening sequence about the rain. I decided to combine them, and this is /still/ a short chapter. It just wasn't a lot of content. Oh well. Reviews are adored, but it's not like I'll stop writing without them. These are for _him_, anyway.

**[Vignettes of Him] Those Fateful Downpours**

In which we hold out hope for many more rainy days spent together.

I am eternally grateful to the rain.

We got married in the rain. I remember every detail of that day.

One afternoon, when _he_ didn't come to my locked like _he_ was wont to do, it rained: cold, unfeeling drops that soiled my textbooks and sunk my spirits.

Once, it rained during a competition. I couldn't forget sitting next to _him_ on the bus in our dripping wet bibbers halfway through that day, my body losing heat on one side to our jackets and_ his_ arm around me restoring it on the other. My mind holds a distinct image of the raindrops sliding across the outside of my windowpane as we moved. _His_ lips tasted especially warm on that bus ride.

These days, I take the rain to be a sign.

The rain, in essence, brought us together.

I lay upon the timpani cart in the orchestra room thinking about it, unmitigatedly alone. Less than ten minutes before now, the room had been filled with the cacophonous dissonance of free time (more cordially named 'Work on stuff on your own until lunch, guys'). Of course, everyone had complied for about thirty minutes—me trying desperately to hear what I was playing on the vibraphone over the din of the nearby concert toms; and the boys, who always went straight for the loudest drums, making my job as challenging as possible—until their attention spans were exceeded and their enthusiasm wore off and our number dwindled as in groups of two or three they slipped out into the hallways to spend twenty-five minutes 'getting a drink' or 'going to the bathroom'. Now, only I remained, too worn out to make use of the silence I had so long craved.

I was almost too busy reveling in the memory of the time _he_ and I had lain on the timpani cart together to hear the knocking. It was _him_, locked out and pounding on the orchestra room door that led to the outside. From my position on the floor, I was not in _his_ field of vision. I stood, walked to the door, and opened it. Upon doing so I was showered with a rainy gust of wind. The weather had kept us confined to the music hallway all day. As I stepped to my left to allow _him_ to come inside, I thought to myself that I couldn't really blame the kids for wanting to use every excuse to get away from here.

_Oh well_, my own voice sounded in my head, _it worked out to my advantage, anyway_. I made my way back to the timpani cart. _He_ followed slowly behind me, taking a seat in a nearby black plastic chair as I lay down again. I have never been comfortable sleeping with other people around, even _him_, so I closed my eyes until all I could see were slits of white-grey light and rested. _He_ remained quiet for a while. Eventually, I opened my eyes just to make sure that a movement of _his_ hadn't tricked my senses and gone unnoticed by me. _His_ position remained unchanged, and _he_ was staring out the window at the continuing rain. However, _his _eyes snapped over and locked with mine when he heard me adjust the location of my arm underneath me. I glanced up just in time to see _his_ mouth move.

'You look beautiful when you sleep,' _he_ said, _his_ voice hitching in a kind of sigh at the end: one of those times when _he_ needed me but wouldn't say it. I was getting better at detecting those, and they happened often.

'Well,' I began in response. I sat up and lifted myself off the cart. Working consciously to place one foot in front of the other, I walked forward and sat lightly down on _his_ lap, straddling _his_ legs and the chair to do so. I had executed the action so that I was facing forward. I looked into _his_ eyes.

'You are one lucky vibraphone,' I leaned into _him_ until our chests were touching and my lips were right next to _his _ear, 'because I think you're going to see a lot more of me sleeping in your future.' To finish, I kissed _him_ on the cheek and trailed my tongue down _his_ jawbone to _his _lips, which I licked after wetting my own.

As I was doing this, _he_ reached around my backside and pulled me so closely to _him_ that only our clothing kept _him_ from theoretically impregnating me. The shorts I had worn to practice slid dangeriously high on my thighs.

'I hope so.' Our lips were so close together that they brushed each other when _he_ spoke.

I smiled and willingly kissed _him_. _He_ kissed back and I moaned in pleasure, slipping my arms around _his_ neck. I clasped my hands behind _his _head and rested my forearms on _his_ shoulders. My lips, wet with _his_ saliva, slid off _his_ mouth and followed the rest of my face when I rested my chin on my arm. I breathed deeply, taking in as much of the scent of _him_ as I could at one time. I'd never been able to place _his _smell with anything; it was magnificently unique, and I loved it.

'Two years,' I whispered to _him_.

_His_ hands found my cheeks and gently pulled my head in front of _him_, and _he_ kissed me on the lips for an answer.


	5. The Awaited Return, Part I

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Just me telling it like it is. Or like I hope it won't have to be. I spent six hours looking for this quote. A band-lacking chapter again. My apologies? And the title sucks, I know. This was an instance in which one didn't come to me. The really good stuff will be in Part II. Happy NaNoWriMo, everyone~

**[Vignettes of Him] The Awaited Return, Part I**

In which we are reunited after the longest separation of our lives.

'_Even though tonight I've got a date with my bookshelf  
I'd much rather touch and hug you  
And something else'_

I sat on the bottom bunk bed in my dorm room, uncomfortably halfway-reclining against my pillow. Across my lap lay the six-hundred-page volume _An Introduction to Neuroscientific Research_, and next to it my copy of _Fundamentals of Human Genetics_. I sighed deeply. Tonight had been a poor night to decide to try continuing the work on my master's thesis. It was a complicated combination of neuroscientific and genetic discovery that would take me my remaining two years of undergraduate school to complete—a thing much too involved for tonight.

I slid the book off my legs and swung them over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the floor and standing up. I grabbed a coat from the small closet I shared and crossed the room to the exit. The hallway immediately outside my door already smelled of winter. As I pushed open the large, heavy door that led to the exterior of the building, I was hit with a blast of crisp northern air. I hurried across the street to the juniour parking lot, leaving my residence hall and my life's work for the past two years behind me. I blew into my hands. It was October, after all.

I located my car with ease and swiftly extracted my keys from my jeans pocket to unlock it. After I got in, I started up the heat, which always took too long to begin working, and pulled out of my parking spot. I drove off campus and made my way toward the city.

It seemed that every time I checked the rearview mirror, I was hit with a different worry, from the utterly inane to the completely ridiculous to the entirely implausible. What if _his_ plans has changed? The e-mail _he_ had sent me last was approaching three weeks of age; plane schedules were altered all the time, especially in this kind of weather. What if _he_'d lied to me? Intentionally, to keep me from meeting him at the correct time and place? No, who would feign a fantasy for so long if that were the case? Or, the worst possibility of all: What if _he_ didn't still love me? I stopped myself at that.

In high school, I would try to convince myself that I could get along without _him_—that I could spend on band practice without tasting _his_ lips or go one day without holding _his_ hand or hearing _his_ voice. I couldn't.

Now, it had been over seven hundred thirty days almost without any contact between us, and I was restless. I needed to see _him_. I needed to be with _him_.

My eyes flitted to my mirrors. What if _he_'d changed? What if _he_ looked different? What if I looked different to _him_? I wouldn't have been so bothered by a fact so trivial had I not long upheld the notion of picking _him_ out of the crowd at the airport and running up to _him_…

As though my thoughts had been its cue, the airport suddenly appeared in my view. I turned into the entrance and found an unoccupied space in the parking lot. As I got out and stuffed my keys into my pocket, I glanced around, half-expecting to see _him_ standing in a secluded corner or one of the doorways. The car door slammed heavily closed at my touch.

From that moment on, everything around me seemed to make a sound: my shoes on the asphalt, the airport doors as they automatically slid open at my presence, my heavy breathing as I crossed threshold after threshold, each one bringing me closer and closer to _him_.

I passed a wall lined with screens. I stopped in front of it and my eyes scanned the digital displays. The city from which _his_ flight was coming appeared. I singled it out immediately. Next to the name were the fateful words 'ON TIME'. Of course, being myself, I had shown up thirty minutes early. I continued walking, then, going as far as I could without passing through security or needing a ticket. Too anxious to sit down, I leaned tentatively against a wall and watched hundreds of people I would never see again bustle past, armed with arsenals of travel supplies and dragging even more behind them. Red suitcases, dark and bright blue, forest green with purple ties. (It occurred to me that I didn't know what colour his luggage was.)

My foot slipped on the dirty airport linoleum, sparking me back to full attention. I glanced at my arm several times before realising that I didn't have a watch.

So I settled back into my previous routine, scanning faces until one of them would become familiar. Forty minutes passed; by the end of it, I must have studied a thousand countenances of tall, brown-haired men, none of them _him_. Every person with sunglasses that passed by me added to my agony. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, then shot back up seconds later, scanning the entire area for anyone who might have escaped my scrutinizing stare in my brief lapse of attention. I became terrified that I'd missed _him_; I could feel my heartbeat increasing drastically. After a moment of frenzied consideration, I shook my head at my own thought. Maybe _he_ didn't even wear sunglasses anymore. Our high school days were over, had been over. I returned my gaze to the gates.

Suddenly, I recognised one of the many people in the crowd. _His_ unmistakable stature made _him_ stand out—_he_ stood so tall above everyone else.

I gasped. My heart stopped. Blood froze in my veins.

'_Don't worry, I'll find you when I come back. Though it would be a lot easier if you just came to my homecoming. You don't have to, just a suggestion. It would absolutely make my day if when I get off the plane I spot your face in the crowd and then the world seems to go in slow-motion, and all I can see is your face, then slowly I start walking towards you, then time catches up to my heart and I am running to you, throwing my arms around you, and telling you exactly just how much I missed you with my lips.'_


	6. The Awaited Return, Part II

Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Sometimes when I look back I can't believe what I've written. The height thing is wishful thinking. I'm happy with the way this turned out. I wasn't exactly sure how it was going to, but as I wrote, this is what developed. I like the thought of it happening this way. Perhaps. There are times when I don't like the way I portrayed either of us. Lots of long sentences in this. Welcome to my writing style. What's new? It is what it is. Enjoy. Review if you feel so inclined.

**[Vignettes of Him] The Awaited Return, Part II**

In which we see what we'll no longer be missing.

This time, when I pulled into my parking spot, the passenger's seat wasn't empty. Wordlessly, I got out and walked to the back of the car. The trunk popped open at the touch of a button on my keys. _He_ must have followed me, because suddenly _his_ hand was reaching for the same handle as mine was. I withdrew; we hadn't touched in so long. I could hear _him_ exhale as _he_ pulled a suitcase (of a simple brown leather, I had been sure to observe) out of the car. _His_ breath seemed close enough to feel.

I removed two remaining suitcases from the trunk, closed it after _he _removed a fourth, and led _him_ to my building. The stagnant air in the hallway suggested that no one had been in or out since I left. I took my keys out of my pocket as we walked. When we arrived at my door, it took me only seconds to open it. Once I was partially across the carpet, I turned around and motioned _him_ inside.

'So this is where you live?'

The sound of _his_ voice was so beautiful, I dropped the suitcases in my hands. Fortunately, they fell upright, and in a reasonable location. I took the other two from _him _and set them down beside the first and second while I talked.

'Yeah. Housing was a nightmare freshman year, but they care more about you the longer you stick around.' I laughed coolly, straightening up and moving from where the suitcases were to where _he_ was standing. I put my hand on the bedpost nearest _him_, running it along the smooth wood. Almost before I knew it, _his_ arm had wound swiftly behind my back and exerted pressure to draw me to _him_. I gasped a little in surprise, but ended up swallowing it, _his_ lips were upon me so suddenly. When _he_ let up, I pulled back only slightly—just enough to allow me to return my neck to its normal position.

'You've gotten taller,' _he_ noted.

In the past, _he _had been able to rest _his_ head comfortably on mine when we were both standing. Now, my mouth was about at the level of _his_ chin. I kissed _his_ neck.

'Isn't it nice?' I grabbed hold of _his _collar and forcefully pulled _him_ forward onto my bed, careful not to allow _his_ head to smack the bottom of the upper bunk. _He_ adjusted to the change quickly, planting a hand on either side of my head and descending toward me. _His_ lips were cold, a product of the temperature outside, but both of us soon warmed up. I snaked one hand down _his_ side and the other up the gap in between _his_ arm and my body so I could run my fingers across the back of _his _head. I'd forgotten the texture of _his _hair.

We lay there for a while, until I could feel _him _start to weaken above me. My hands still in their places, I sat up. _He_ was on _his_ knees for a moment, then _he_ sat back on _his_ calves. Our heads were virtually level. I dropped my top hand down to _his_ chest, and my other one found _his_ waist. I glanced at the clock on my desk—it read a time that somehow struck me as familiar…

'Come on,' I spoke suddenly, moving off the bed. _He_ remained there, looking confused. I began pulling the sheets from the mattress. _He_ got up so I could get the bottom corners, and noticed the navy blue airplane blanket at the foot of my bed.

'That looks familiar.'

I smiled. It had warmed us both on many a chilly band charter bus. I was almost finished with the sheets. _He_ walked over to my desk, where among the clock sat other items. _He_ picked up my class ring.

'You keep this out?'

'I look at the inside of it every night before I go to bed,' I replied, secretly glad that _he_ hadn't encountered the drawer full of tissues for the nights when I cried myself to sleep.

'Help me with this.' I had picked up the mattress and hoisted it under one arm.

'Your roommate isn't home?' _He_ came to help me, grabbing the mattress's other end.

'She's a big field hockey player for the school.' I'd always resented being paired with a sporty student, but now I was kind of happy. 'There's a big championship this weekend. Hurry, we have to get to the roof: sunrise is in four minutes.'

We took our cargo out my door, down the outside hallway, and up three flights of stairs. When we arrived at a door with a placard that read 'ROOF ENTRANCE', I pushed it open and threw the mattress to the ground. _He_ began to laugh.

'Don't make fun,' I chided. 'It was hurting my arm.'

'No,' I could hear the smirk in _his_ voice, 'it's the way you said 'roof' back there.'

A smiled broke across my own face. 'Too much time in the north,' I surmised. We shared a laugh.

I grabbed _his_ arm to look at _his_ watch. _He_ had sensed my urgency and we'd make it up quickly.

'We still have three minutes. Any ideas on what we should do in the meantime?'

_He_ smiled with me at the use of our old expression.

'Actually, I have a few.' _He_ helped me drag the mattress closer to the edge of the building, and lay down on it. I maneuvered on top of _him_. The city skyline panned out before me. I looked at it for a moment, then pulled the blanket I'd brought along overtop of us. I rested my elbows above _his_ shoulders; my forearms sank into the mattress. I felt _his_ hips press upward and instinctively adjusted mine to complement _his_ movements.

There was a light mist outside, and _his_ hair glistened when I moved my head. I ran a hand over it and set my arm back in place before I lowered my fuller weight onto _him_ and pressed my lips into _his_. _His_ hands found my back. I could sense the location of each one of _his_ fingers. I opened my eyes in surprise when all of a sudden _he_ put them behind my head and pulled me deeper into the kiss. Just as _he_ was about to slide _his_ tongue into my mouth, I noticed that the sky had changed colour. The first rays of the sun lit up the clouds in brilliant oranges and pinks.

'You're missing it.' _His_ eyes were closed, hips still moving. _He_ reached for my cheekbones. Our faces were so close, I felt _his_ lashes kiss my skin as _his_ eyelids fluttered open.

'There will be other sunrises. But I'm only coming home once.'

'You're right,' I started to say, but _he _cut me off by pushing _his _tongue into my mouth. I welcomed it. For the first time in so long, _his_ saliva mixed with mine.

We stayed there until the sun was blazing overhead, and kissed until we were out of breath. During the pauses, we caught each other up on the important things and remembered the good times we'd had in high school. I forgot about the classes I had that day. Lying there on the roof with my soon-to-be-husband, it was almost as if _he_'d never left.


End file.
